


Dance

by roselightsaber



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9121699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselightsaber/pseuds/roselightsaber
Summary: Chirrut wants to dance, and Baze is an easily embarrassed ball of fluff.





	

The Temple of the Whills is a holy site, mainly of the solemn, introspective sort. Celebration is rare, and the sort of cheerful, social festivities that have taken over this evening, even more unusual. It’s not Baze’s forte, but it’s not without its enjoyable qualities, and chief among those charms is the chance to sit back and watch Chirrut. Always the social animal he never was himself, Chirrut flitted around the gathering like a barbary bird, chatting and joking and--he stifles a laugh behind his hand--dancing. Chirrut’s dance partner seems to be extremely surprised to be swept up by the other, but in seconds she’s laughing and twirling him around too. Chirrut can fight, he’s one with the Force, but to Baze’s eyes this is his true gift. The man is a charmer, and who would know it better than the one he’s enchanted the most?

Right on cue, Chirrut looks over toward him with a silly grin. It always astounds him--Chirrut always finds him despite his blindness, always _knows_ , always looks at him so adoringly though he doesn’t see at all, at least not in the traditional sense. Baze has skills of his own when it comes to Chirrut; he can pick out his cheerful voice easily at this distance even over the din of the crowd, and he hears him parting from his dance partner with a laugh. “Pardon me, sister.” His tone lilts like music. “But even with these eyes I know when a handsome man is looking for my attention.”

Baze chuckles, shaking his head as Chirrut approaches. “What do you know about handsome?”

“I had a look before the lights went out,” He says with a confident grin, patting Baze’s cheek. “Can’t have changed too much.”

“I’m a lucky man for you to keep believing that.”

“The universe does not operate on _luck_.” Raising up on his toes slightly, he leans in for a kiss. It’s a little much for public, Baze thinks, but he can’t deny him. “Besides, I happen to know I’m quite the catch myself, so my husband must be my perfect match.”

“I suppose I can’t argue with that.”

“No, you can’t.” Before Baze can object, Chirrut takes his hands and gives him a little pull away from the wall. “Dance with me. No arguing that either.”

“Dance?” He frowns, though Chirrut already has a hand at his waist, ready to drag him kicking and screaming through the motions. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“Yes you do. You can spar, so you can dance.” The smile he flashes makes him weak. Baze wonders dimly if they might find a way to weaponize it. “Just do what you always do. Follow me.”

“Truly the blind leading the blind,” He grumbles.

“Only I get to make that joke.” He laughs anyway, though, and sweeps him closer as they half-dance, half-stumble their way into the crowd of revelers, moving to the sounds of flutes and drums and laughter. “I knew you could dance,” He teases. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Even if I was any good at all,” He says, trying his best to sound gruffly annoyed though his smile is damn near audible in his voice and he knows Chirrut can detect it better than anyone. “The opportunity to show you doesn’t come up very often.”

“I would have arranged some!”

“You would.” Baze feels eyes on him, on them, and his cheeks grow hot. Their relationship was no secret; even if they’d bothered to try and hide it, Chirrut’s penchant for public displays of affection would have made it a pointless endeavor. It’s not as though he’s ashamed, not by a long shot--Chirrut is the best thing about him and he’s been willing to admit it since well before they were together--but privacy is a relatively new luxury for Baze, and he clings to it a little more closely than his partner.

Chirrut lifts a hand to Baze’s cheek. “Your thoughts are so busy.”

“I told you I don’t know how to dance.”

“Relax, that’s a good first step.” He leans in close, whispering. “Move your body with mine. I know you know how to do that.” Baze’s face goes red again. “Blushing dark enough for the blind to see,” Chirrut teases. “What a gentle soul you are.”

He growls another mostly-indistinguishable complaint about the other making him soft but he’s too busy trying to follow Chirrut’s graceful footsteps to put much thought into it. He does dance like he fights--or fights like he dances, maybe--all smooth turns and confident precision. Baze’s steps aren’t so light, and though he’s trained just like Chirrut has, anyone seeing the two dance would not be surprised to discover his preference for rocket launchers over hand to hand combat. But the trait that stands out most isn’t his clumsiness or unpracticed steps--those are far overshadowed by how he moves in time with Chirrut every step of the way, and how his eyes never leave his face. Baze leans down to kiss him as they dance, oblivious to the crowd around them, absorbed in the music and in Chirrut, pressing close and smiling at him like he’s the only thing that matters in the galaxy.


End file.
